What an unbelievable clusterf*ck of a night.

So it's Thursday 20th May. We're down at the Hobgoblin, setting up to soundcheck. J from More Fire has been painting Brighton pig, and we're ready play some f*cking music. Steal Back Your Life have jumped in at the super-last minute to save our collective asses and replace the dropped-out Stash, and the Dirty Social Disorder are present and correct (minus bassist, of course). How psyched are we?

Nige SBYL and me decide it'd be really cool if we combine our bass combos into one towering pseudo-stack. So we plug some leads in, switch it all on... my amp makes a noise like an electronic monster baby fart, then dies completely. Never mind, Nige can take it to Guitar & Amp in the morning - and the show can go on: we can just use Nige's.

In the meantime, Chris the sound engineer is swearing at the PA. The Hob has builders in, and they seem to have demolished one channel of the mixing disk and half of the head. Things are not working very well. J and Sam drive off to pick up J's PA as a replacement... everyone else twiddles their thumbs. Apart from Chris, who is furiously re-wiring things - after about 10 minutes of this, he announces he's jury-rigged the thing into producing sound. He has, indeed. The show will go on.

So Sam and J get back, soundchecks happen, and all is looking good. Until the Dirty Social Disorder and entourage step outside (outside the pub, look you), and one of their mates starts smoking a jazz fag. On re-entry, the whole band get banned from the Hobgoblin by the manager. (You see, the Hob has its reputation as a sophisticated, classy joint to protect, here...)

So we're down to two bands before we've even started. No problem - Steal Back Your Life and Seratone can play 35 minutes each... we can still fill the evening with noise. Still buzzing.

So SBYL take to the stage, to insane twisting arpeggios from a strange box they set up near the drumkit. They play two songs... and halfway through the third, the PA disappears in a puff of smoke. "It's the fuse!" cries Chris, and runs off to get a replacement. SBYL experiment in being an instrumental funk band.

Chris is soon back. He replaces the fuse, and the PA makes noises like an antelope receiving a tracheotomy with a megaphone. There is now also a distinct smell of burning plastic coming from the walls.

People back away nervously from the PA. Chris goes downstairs, and comes up with the news that the fuse box is smoking. He suggests it would probably be a very good idea if all the electrical equipment on that circuit, including all the amps, the cigarette machine, and Sam's fairy lights, is turned off. Very quickly, please.

So that, ladies and gentleman, is the end of the gig. Dirty Social Disorder and Seratone played nothing, and SBYL got two and a half songs out before being sonically decapitated. My bass amp is no longer functional, the Hob's PA is in critical condition, and rumour has it that the wall sockets (if there are any left that haven't melted) are actually wired to a lighting spur from the Victorian ring main.

I'm taking the evening as proof that only bad things can happen when there's too much goth in one place.